


Safe like springtime

by aizia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Contemporary AU, F/F, Home, Loneliness, Mutual Pining, Neighbourhood AU, POV Alternating, Prosthesis, Slice of Life, mild insomnia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2019-07-07 02:56:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aizia/pseuds/aizia
Summary: Angela leaves her downtown apartment for a project of a house in a quiet neighbourhood. She becomes more and more aware that her home is one person emptier than she'd like.Fareeha has lived in the neighbourhood for several years. She’s made a life on her own. She’s happy, mostly, but nothing ever quite makes that dull ache go away.





	1. A Change

Angela had never been certain what compelled her to sell her apartment that drizzly day in late September.

 

She'd been paying much more for it than the interior itself was truly worth; it was small and not particularly new. Its downtown location had raised its value inordinately; Angela supposed it was an ideal location for a single businessperson, but she had never cared for the noise (or the landlord, who refused to let her paint in any colours but white or beige).

 

Angela had always thought of herself as a level-headed woman who made measured, well-thought-out decisions, and allowing herself some uncharacteristic impulsivity had sent a thrill down her spine.

 

She had about two weeks to find another house.

 

She went to a showing for a grey townhome with a young family next door, a larger, dated apartment in a quieter part of town, and a brand new, red, detached home in the suburbs. But it was the hundred year old, well-maintained, marigold house about twice as big as her old apartment (and twice as far away from the hospital) that ignited something within her.

 

Its furnace, fireplace, and roofing had been freshly replaced, but it would need some new boards on the porch, where dry rot had started to disintegrate the cedar. It would also need new paint in the interior, and Angela would have to double the amount of furniture she owned to fill the place.

 

Even so, she was drawn to the fact that it was a project. She’d wanted something to nourish—to watch grow. Her life had lacked works in progress for some time.

 

* * *

 

 At 5:30am, Angela’s phone alarm went off. She lay on the mattress she’d dragged to the master bedroom, staring up at a foreign white ceiling.

 

Today would be day one.

 

She threw on some old clothes, hung up in her new closet, though still wrinkled from the move. (She’d had so few belongings she’d been able to stuff all of it in her car in just three trips. Her heart said it was minimalism; her head said it was the fruits of past workaholism.)

 

She started with the great room, rolling large W’s of pale blue paint on the wall. So engrossed in covering the old, yellowing white paint with fresh blue, she’d hardly noticed when lunch time rolled around. She could eventually feel the soreness in her arms, but she trudged on, and the second coat was finished by four. She barely had time to wash the paint from her hands before her doorbell rang; she rushed to open the door, immediately feeling the damp, mid-October chill. Two women stood in front of her door—a calm-looking red-headed woman and a shorter brunette who was practically bouncing on her heels. They looked to be somewhere in their late twenties.

 

“We live next door and heard you moved in,” said the brunette, “so we made you dinner. Well, Em made it. I could burn water—“

 

“I wish she was kidding,” the redhead said, touching the shorter one’s chin in a way that immediately read _couple_ to Angela. “I’m Emily, and this is my non-culinary fiancée, Lena.”

 

Angela smiled at their affection. “Well, thank you!” she said, taking the paper bag in Lena’s hands. She introduced herself, offering to have them over for dinner after she had settled in.

 

Lena and Emily left to go prepare their own meals, and Angela opened the bag of food on her kitchen table, suddenly voraciously hungry.

 

* * *

 

Angela scrubbed at the last corner of the large window in the master bedroom. She tried not to squint at the eleven o'clock sun filtering through them, now unclouded by any dust the windows had collected when the house had been vacant. She took a moment to watch the birds dart around on her back porch, mottled cream and brown and singing their morning choruses.

 

Angela stretched her hand out on the patch of sunlight that had fallen over her white comforter. Her bed was large—larger than any single person would need, with twice as many pillows. The latter probably wasn’t necessary, but she was trying to be a little less utilitarian in her design choices (and something had urged her to buy enough for two… in case she lost a pillow perhaps?)

 

Now the bed was beginning to look inviting.

 

She set her phone alarm for thirty minutes, rewarding herself for the completed task with a late morning cat nap. Thoughts passed through her mind lazily as she began to drift off—what she’d make for lunch, how she’d busy herself in the afternoon. Then they become less concrete; Angela thought about the sunlight in her bedroom, saw it illuminating the features of a woman—hair mussed, smile slow and heavy with sleep.

 

Angela indulged in that thought until an dull, heavy pang hit her in the chest. She nearly gasped at the impact of it.

 

She hadn’t felt that in a long, long time.

 

Deciding she needed some air, Angela got up, stretched, and stood for a moment on her half-repaired porch.

 

It was likely too small for a conventional swinging bench, which pained her a bit; she’d wanted one for years, and it had never been a possibility in her old apartment.

 

It would be nice to drink her coffee on a porch bench on cool, Saturday mornings, a blanket over her shoulders and a pajama-clad woman next to—

 

Angela rubbed her temples. _No._

 

She’d have to get a swinging bench somehow. Her mind drifted back to the imagined woman on the bench with her. And perhaps a cat…

 

* * *

 

 Childlike excitement welled in Angela as a shelter worker, who had introduced herself as Katherine, opened the door of the cat room.

 

“We have six cats here right now,” Katherine said. “You’re welcome to mingle.”

 

Angela could see four in her immediate view. A calico one marched right up to her and rubbed her cheek against Angela’s pant leg.

 

“That’s Heather,” said Katherine. “Only a year old. Very friendly. I’m sure she’ll be scooped up quick.”

 

Smiling, Angela knelt down to pet her. A metallic grey one was the next to greet her, placing its forepaws on her knees so it could sniff her face.

 

“We call this one Rod. He’s five. Very loyal, but he tends to be fairly liberal in how he uses his claws…”

 

She met two bonded tabbies named Davi and Lily next, and then a Siamese named Pat.

 

But a small, midnight-black one still hadn’t left her blue, plush house in the corner.

 

“Who is this little one?” Angela asked, kneeling down and offering her hand; the cat sniffed her tentatively.

 

“That’s Meryl. She’s six. Been in our care for almost a year now. She’s a bit… timid. Doesn’t venture out of her little house much.”

 

“Hmm,” Angela said. “I don’t blame her. It does look comfortable in there.”

 

“She doesn’t like loud noises, and tends to prefer women…” Katherine continued.

 

Angela gently stroked between Meryl’s ears, laughing softly. “We already have so much in common.”

 

Meryl didn’t seem frightened by Angela’s touch, though she didn’t lean into it, either.

 

“She’d take some time to warm up to you. We’ve had trouble finding her a suitable home… one without kids or men is more difficult than you might think. ”

 

Angela smiled. “In that case, I think she’s found the one.”

 

 

Angela took Meryl home in a crate she’d already purchased, furnished with a pillow and a soft blanket.

 

Angela was careful not to rush Meryl. She opened the crate once she got home, and then left to make lunch so as to not overwhelm her, letting her roam and sniff on her own terms. By the end of the afternoon, Meryl was no longer hiding; she curled up on Angela’s only armchair, and Angela was now the kind of person who would gladly take the fold-up chair if it meant her cat was comfortable.

 

Once evening came, Angela picked one of the five different brands of wet cat food she’d bought in advance, hoping Meryl would like one of them. When she wolfed the first one up voraciously, Angela realized her anxiety had been unfounded.

 

Before bed, Angela approached Meryl directly for the first time. Ever so gently, she stroked the cat’s soft fur, and Angela heard a hint of a quiet purr.

 

For now, it was all Angela needed.

 

* * *

 

Angela started filling up empty spaces with plants—a ribbon plant and a pepperface in the kitchen, peperomia on the washroom sill, fittonias and echeverias in her bedroom. She made sure they were all non-toxic for Meryl, but the cat didn’t seem particularly interested in Angela’s plants anyway. She was growing more and more comfortable with Angela—brushing against her when it was feeding time, mewing at the birds through the barrier of the window, running after crinkle toys Angela threw across the room.

 

Angela made a routine of coming home from the hospital, feeding Meryl, and watering any plants that needed it. She’d put something chattery and mindless on T.V. and make her dinner, and then she’d work on something around the house, because there was always _something_ to work on. Today she’d be finishing the porch repairs before the rain started again.

 

Professional bowling droned on as she made stir fry. Once the rice maker popped she took her food to the fold-up chair in front of her TV to eat. Angela crunched on a piece of broccoli. She still needed to buy a sofa…

 

She made her way to the porch after eating, and then nailed a couple of boards, sanded some rough edges, and tidied the areas that had gotten dusty in the repairs. 

 

She had about half an hour of daylight left once she finished, and something compelled her to put on a sweater and leave her house on foot, planning to explore the new neighbourhood she’d barely had time to set foot in.

 

The area was composed of many old, colourfully painted houses interspersed with newer townhomes—some with meticulously cared-for gardens, others covered in vines and overgrowth. There was a corner store, a flower shop, a library, and a take-out restaurant.

 

She walked in a loop and came back to her house from the opposite direction, noticing an obstruction on the sidewalk about four houses down from her own. As she came closer, she realized it was an old, wooden piano. Though dusty, it seemed to be in good shape; she carefully lifted up the case that covered the keyboard, and tried her hand at a few keys. It sounded in tune, at least to Angela’s untrained ears.

 

She ran her hand along the beautiful mouldings that lined the upper front board. She hardly played, but it would be a shame if it got thrown away, and she _did_ have a lot of room in her house…

 

The piano was close enough to her house that it could be carried there by hand, but she’d need at least one other person to help.

 

She jogged to Emily and Lena’s house three doors down. Now she’d _definitely_ have to make them a good meal. Maybe cookies in the meantime…

 

Thankfully, Lena looked all too happy to help. She had surprising strength for a woman more petite than Angela, and all Emily had to do was ensure nobody attempted to walk on that side of the sidewalk while they were moving the piano.

 

Lena breathed out in relief once they set it down in Angela’s “dining room” (could she call it that if it didn’t actually have a table?). Angela rolled out her shoulders, relaxing her straining arms. Out of the corner of her eye, Angela could see Meryl making herself scarce at the new company.

 

After Angela sincerely thanked them, Lena grinned. “I can see why you wanted it in here.” She gestured around her. “This house is empty.”

 

Emily looked at Lena. “Please don’t say yeet—”

 

Beyond the age threshold of understanding whatever they were talking about, Angela invited them in for tea and cookies. Lena was already preoccupied by a window that led onto the backyard. “Your porch looks lovely!” she said.

 

“Oh,” Angela smiled, leading them into the kitchen, “thank you. I’ve been looking for a swinging bench for that spot, actually. None seem to fit in the space, and I’m thinking I’ll need to get one custom-made.”

 

“Oh!” said Emily. A pause, and then she made a funny expression, as if holding down a smile. “I actually know someone in the area who does that kind of thing. I’ll give you her number.”

 

Angela passed Emily her phone, and Lena looked at Angela, swinging her legs on one of the two barstools Angela had beside her counter. “You _have_ to get it done by Fareeha,” Lena said.

 

Punching in some digits, Emily handed Angela her phone back. “She lives a few houses down from us. She carved a mantel for us a few months ago. It’s just gorgeous. You should call her up.”

 

Angela filled the kettle. “I think I just might,” she said, retrieving the flour from her pantry.

 

She whipped up a chocolate chip cookie recipe she’d memorized years ago, and the sounds of Lena’s silly jokes and Emily’s laughter and the smell of baking cookies filled Angela’s chest with a warm contentedness that made her swallow a lump in her throat.

 

She knew the feeling would fade away once the two younger women left, but the emotion filled Angela with a foreign, glowing sort of hope.

 

Maybe this house would feel like home someday.


	2. A Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Fareeha. Fareeha meets Angela.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's six months late but it's here! I promise the next update will not take that long.
> 
> Just wanted to give a shout-out to everyone at prmfu(s) who encouraged me to keep at this story, whether you shared your knowledge to help me write something more accurately, threw out some ideas when I was stuck on a scene, or just sent me excited emojis. Particularly mothie, bon, and rod: I couldn't have done it without you guys. <3

Fareeha’s hands stretched against the piano: the left flesh and the right titanium. The latter clinked ever so slightly against weighted keys.

 

She tested a few notes indulgently.

 

Eighteen-year-old Fareeha would have never imagined herself a piano player. She had brimmed with a reckless sort of energy, then, and it never allowed her to sit still for very long. She had joined a firefighting program right after high school, against her mother’s protests that she do something safer, a bit more intellectual.

 

_You have such a good brain. Why don’t you use it?_

 

Fareeha had said some things to her she wished she hadn’t. She’d moved out young and hadn’t called enough.

 

The beginning of this song was high-pitched and lullabic: almost tentative. It had taken Fareeha months to develop the right-handed finger control for such gentle presses.

 

For a time, her prosthetic hand felt heavy, foreign, like trying to control a limb that had fallen asleep. She’d picked up the piano days after receiving it as a way to improve fine motor skills. She had chosen this song then because of the intricate melody in the upper register, forcing her right hand to move, to stretch, at first clumsily so.

 

She had hated the prosthesis for a time: hated the way her writing looked like a child’s scrawl, hated the inability of her right fingers to flow with her left when she typed, hated when dozens of hairs wound into the metal joints when she reflexively ran a hand through her hair.

 

The tempo of the song increased, now; her left hand followed along and supported, guided by deep muscle memory.

 

She did get better. Watching the mechanics function began to interest her, even: she picked up the guitar as an observational activity more than anything, fumbling across strings to learn about the prosthesis’ mechanisms. She started making things with her hands, too: carving, knitting, a brief stint at sculpting. Frustration grew into fascination.

 

It helped her move on from the fire in that apartment, from memories of pain and weeks in the hospital.

 

The song was reaching its climax, and Fareeha pressed down hard, the notes of each hand blending together, higher pitches grounded by lower anchors.

 

She had channeled that newfound passion into school, and then into her career. She rebuilt her relationship with her mother. She moved to a different city.

 

The music softened again before coming to a close; she grazed the last note with gentle flourish.

 

But everything was so quiet, now.

 

* * *

 

Her workshop was small and well-used. Maple and oak lumber piled up against one of the far corners, and sheets of graphed and lined paper were strewn about the work bench.

 

Fareeha retrieved her whittling knife and gingerly picked up a half-finished carving from the work bench, taking it with her to the front porch. She chipped away at the detailing of the sparrow’s face, listening to the songs of Saturday morning birds.

 

She was smoothing the sparrow’s beak when a small, brown tabby made its way into her vision, meandering towards her porch. It jumped onto the wooden banister of the porch’s railing, and Fareeha laughed in surprise, getting up to stroke its head. The cat purred loudly, and when Fareeha returned to her carving, it watched her for five or ten minutes before hopping off the railing and wandering outside of her yard.

 

She watched the cat go, thumbing a wood shaving off the bird’s freshly engraved eye.

 

Maybe having a cat would be nice.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The park was empty that evening; dusk would soon descend and blanket the night in the chill of late fall. Fareeha breathed in the old smell of ruddy, rotting leaves, the flicks of her whittling knife measured and rhythmic. A small pile of wood shavings lay by her feet.

 

She stilled the knife when she sensed a presence beside her. She looked up, and a woman in a red coat sat with her hands in her lap on the other side of the bench. As if caught, her gaze darted away from the carving.

 

Fareeha held the bird in her outstretched palm. “I don’t mind.”

 

The woman tucked a few blonde flyaways behind her ear. “It’s beautiful. It looks like the birds that sing on my porch in the morning.”

 

Her look of wonder made Fareeha exhale a small laugh. “Thank you. You’re probably right, though. I modelled it after the sparrows around here.”

 

“It’s so detailed.” She extended her hand as if to touch the carving and then pulled away; Fareeha held it closer to the woman, and she ran her thumb over the feathers of its chest with a sort of reverence.

 

Fareeha was struck silent at the odd intimacy of it. The feeling wasn’t unwelcome, but it felt foreign and stiff in her chest.

 

The woman hummed in interest, unaware. “Sometimes I feel I recognize certain sparrows from past mornings. But maybe I’m imagining things.”

 

“Calls can be somewhat distinct.” Fareeha cleared her throat. “Between individual birds, that is.”

 

The woman’s hand returned to her lap. “A bit like us,” she said.

 

Fareeha smiled. “A little.”

 

They lapsed into silence, and Fareeha watched the scenery in front of her for a moment: spindly birch and wide oaks falling into the rhythm of the breeze: a small, wooden-style playground—the kind everywhere when Fareeha was a kid. Something tugged at her chest to say something more.

 

“I—” Fareeha started.

 

“I better—" the woman began.

 

“Go on,” Fareeha said gently.

 

“I better get going. I…I’ll see you around?”

 

Without much forethought, Fareeha nodded. “I hope I do.”

 

The woman’s smile was tinged with surprise. She stood up, paused uncertainly, and then left, her red coat disappearing amongst the green of the park.

 

* * *

 

In the last decade, Fareeha had made many, many things with her hands.

 

Most of her work she had given away; she’d incorporated little carvings into dozens of birthday presents, made intricate birdhouses as housewarming gifts, crocheted hats for coworkers’ newborns, knitted blankets for her parents.

 

She’d always found it more rewarding to make things _for people_ ; to have a name and a face for every cut of wood, each pattern of thread.

 

But appropriate occasions for gifting didn’t always present themselves, and Fareeha had built up a small collection of things for… someone.

 

She didn’t have a face, or a name—well, she _did_ , of course; Fareeha just didn’t know who she was yet.

 

Her collection included several little wooden song sparrows (the fifth nearly finished), a blanket (soft yellow, blue, and white) and an extra little birdhouse she never had reason to give away.

 

Perhaps they were partly borne out of longing: a feeling Fareeha couldn’t bring herself to express in a way less covert.

 

A longing when she came home in the evening to silence, an ache when the sun set in bright pinks and oranges and she watched it alone, a concealed pang when a woman threaded her hand with another’s in the city.

 

A longing to know her, most of all.

 

Fareeha flipped onto her stomach and pressed her face into her pillow. Its coolness was refreshing in the moment before her cheek warmed it.

 

Sleep was hard to come by some nights.

 

She’d learned that if she hadn’t fallen asleep in half an hour, it was best to get up, do something else in a different room, and then return once she felt tired enough.

 

But she also had to avoid looking at a screen, which meant she often had to get creative.

 

If she made tomorrow’s lunch, at least she’d be doing something productive.

 

She rolled up the sleeves of her pajama shirt, chopped an onion into rings, sprinkled them with salt, and tossed them with flour to coat. She crisped them in a skillet and heat up another saucepan; this one with grated onions, minced garlic, and spices. She added some canned tomato sauce and vinegar and begin cooking the lentils and soaking the rice. She let the rice and lentils cook together after a few minutes, and then boiled the pasta and warmed the chickpeas.

 

The smells had made her hungry in the meantime, and she ate a small bowl of it once she had mixed it all together. The analogue clock on the wall ticked as she chewed.

 

She had made about enough of it to feed ten. Kushari was comforting to eat, but it was not easy to make a single serving of it.

 

If she had it tomorrow for lunch and dinner, dropped some off at Lena and Emily’s, and then froze the rest, she could get through it without waste.

 

After tidying up, she spooned the kushari into a few variously-sized containers and placed them in the fridge.

 

 

She fell asleep without much fuss.

 

* * *

 

 

Fareeha pulled the zipper of her jacket higher up her neck, her other hand clutching two glass containers against her chest. She squinted against the wet, blustery winds until she reached the grey house three doors down.

 

She knocked lightly on the black door. Lena opened it, smile cheery as the yellow of her sweater.

 

“This is kushari from last night,” Fareeha explained, patting the containers. “I won’t be able to eat everything by myself, and...”

 

“Oh!” Lena ushered her in. “Come inside!” She turned to the kitchen. “Fareeha’s here with leftovers!”

 

Emily called _hello_ from beyond the living room. Fareeha and Lena crossed the partial-wall into the kitchen, where Emily was rinsing rice at the sink. Another woman sat on one of the wooden barstools, her hair tied into a blonde ponytail and…

 

_Oh._

 

Fareeha nearly dropped the containers in her hands.

 

Emily gestured to the woman. “Fareeha, this is Angela—our new neighbour.”

 

Angela turned around, and her smile grew as recognition dawned on her. Fareeha smiled back after a moment, and they reached some sort of private understanding.

 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Fareeha.” Angela looked back at the scone on her plate.

 

“Angie baked us cookies for helping her move a piano,” Lena explained, retrieving some carrots from the crisper.

 

“They dropped off dinner my first day in the neighbourhood, too,” Angela said. “It was the least I could do, really.”

 

“Seems I’ve got some catching up to do in the good neighbour department.” Fareeha grinned, placing her containers on the counter. “Do you need that piano tuned?”

 

Angela laughed gently. “Oh, don’t worry about that.”

 

“Angela could use your skills for something else, though.” Emily said, eyeing Lena, who was now innocently chopping carrots.

 

Angela’s gaze flicked back to her plate before she met Fareeha’s eyes. “I wanted to ask if you were taking commissions, Fareeha.”

 

“Oh.” Fareeha blinked. “Yeah. What were you thinking?”

 

Angela folded her hands in her lap. Fareeha watched her gaze pull away again. "A swinging bench... for my porch."

 

“I’ve done a few benches, but never anything swinging,” Fareeha said. “I’m open to trying, though.”

 

They scheduled some measurements for 2 o’clock Saturday, and after Lena’s insistence she stay for a cup of tea, Fareeha sat down beside Angela on a bar stool. Emily dropped the carrots onto a frying pan and sounds of sizzling filled the kitchen.

 

“How’s the bird coming along?” Angela asked quietly.

 

Fareeha smiled, nodded once. “Almost done.” She eyed the containers on the counter. “Did you want some too?”

 

“Aren’t they for Lena and Emily?”

 

Fareeha shrugged. “I have more at home. It’s not far.” She smiled, raising her voice enough to be heard beyond Angela. “Close enough Lena and Emily are probably sick of me by now.”

 

Emily rolled her eyes playfully. “The neighbour who drops off home-cooking unprompted on a weekly basis? Yes, we are entirely sick of her.”

 

Angela laughed. “Well… thank you, Fareeha. I would appreciate that.”

 

 

Emily and Lena saw them out soon after, and together they began the short walk to Fareeha’s house.

 

Fareeha watched Angela for a short moment; the low light from streetlamps couldn’t quite illuminate her face. Fareeha averted her gaze to the sidewalk. “Have you had much time to explore the neighbourhood?”

 

“Only in bits and pieces. I’ve been meaning to walk around more, but between work and the house repairs…”

 

Fareeha shoved her hands further into her pockets. “And the weather…”

 

Angela smiled. “And the weather.”

 

“On a nicer day, I’d be happy to show you around. If you have some time, of course.”

 

Angela shook her head, laughed lightly. “You’ve all been so kind to me." They slowed in front of Fareeha's house. "I would love to.”

 

Angela waited on Fareeha’s porch as she retrieved the other container of food. Once it was transferred, they circled backwards in the direction of Angela's house.

 

Following Angela’s lead, Fareeha paused on the sidewalk soon after. “Ah, you’re the yellow house,” Fareeha said. “It suits you.”

 

Angela smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment. It’s a nice colour.” She looked away for a moment, at the houses beyond them. “Thank you for everything, Fareeha.”

 

Fareeha wasn’t quite expecting it when Angela pulled her into a hug, partly obstructed by the hard container she was holding. It was over before Fareeha could much reciprocate.

 

“It’s nothing, really.” Fareeha cleared her throat. “I’ll see you Saturday?”

 

Angela smiled. “Of course.” She looked at Fareeha a short moment longer, and Fareeha watched her walk into her front yard; she gave a final wave before entering the yellow house.

 

Fareeha dropped her hand back to her side and turned around, starting the short walk back to her own home.

 

 

The air didn’t feel quite as cold as it usually did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Recipe for kushari.](https://www.themediterraneandish.com/egyptian-koshari-recipe/)


	3. A Tour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela gains some friends and a new hobby.

Angela flipped the novel down on the pillow beside her, spine to the ceiling to save its page, pushing down a bubbling urge to work.

 

She’d climbed her way up the hospital’s hierarchy enough to have fairly regular hours, but despite her own intentions, she’d rarely taken advantage of them. She had racked up more overtime hours and spent more evenings at home doing paperwork than she would ever admit.

 

To colleagues, she explained it as an itching need for productivity; privately, she knew it was simply a matter of distraction, as it turned out doing little else than working, eating, and sleeping did wonders toward avoiding any sort of existential reflection.

 

Since the move, her mind had wandered, more than she ever used to let it.

 

The house repairs were slowing down, now, and she half-hoped she’d find another issue to repair. Nothing major, but… something complicated enough to busy her for a few days.

 

She rubbed her temples. She needed a more sustainable hobby.

 

Meryl mewed softly from the foot of Angela’s bed, and Angela propped herself up to pet her, making sure her hand moved slowly and gently enough to avoid startling her. The cat was fairly acclimatised to her new home, now, but Angela didn’t want to take any chances.

 

“It’s dinner time, isn’t it?”

 

Meryl blinked up at her with round, green eyes, and Angela hummed, taking that as agreement. The cat followed her to the kitchen, where she spooned a can of cat food onto a plate and lowered it to the floor.

 

Save for Meryl’s slurping noises, the house was staggeringly quiet. Angela made the short trip to the living room and flicked the TV on.

 

“Any preferences?” Angela asked her cat.

 

A blink from the doorway, and then more slurping noises.

 

She decided on a nature documentary, lowering the volume until it was just loud enough to be heard.

 

She walked back to the kitchen and heated up the last of the leftovers Fareeha had given her the day before.

 

“ _Paraguay is home to 11 different species of armadillo. Increasingly, they’re reaching Northern parts of the Americas due to a lack of natural predators…”_

 

Angela would have never thought to put pasta, rice, lentils, and chickpeas in a single dish, but the combination was pleasantly filling, and the herbs and seasoning had created a round, complex flavour.

 

_“Armadillos are staggeringly diverse in size. This giant armadillo of Colombia weighs about fifty-four kilograms; fifty-three point nine kilograms more than the tiny, one hundred twenty gram pink fairy armadillo of central Argentina...”_

 

That night, Angela thought of Fareeha’s carvings, and of her own itching lack of hobbies.

 

_Could she carve armadillos?_

_Probably, but…_

 

Angela turned over. _No._

* * *

 

 Angela came home from work the following Friday with a tight bundle of anxiety in her stomach.

 

During lulls at work that day, she’d considered a dozen unlikely scenarios about the guest she’d have tomorrow, descending further and further into apprehension.

 

What if Fareeha didn’t like the house?

 

What if she thought it was too bare—too spartan? Fareeha seemed the type to have interesting knickknacks all over her house, and Angela didn’t even have a couch in the living room…

 

Should she offer her refreshments before she measured the porch, or after?

 

Entertaining in her old apartment was never much an option, but now that she had the opportunity… she had a headache.

 

She found herself grateful for the excuse to distract herself cleaning; its repetition tired her and soothed her nerves, at least temporarily. She had enough time to make a quick bowl of cookie dough to be baked the next day.

 

She felt a sudden pinch of panic as she rinsed the batter off her hands.

 

What if Fareeha didn’t like cookies?

 

She dried her hands on a tea towel and ran a hand through her hair. Who didn’t like cookies?

 

 

She supposed Fareeha could be the first…

 

* * *

 

 Angela felt as prepared as she could be about ten minutes before Fareeha was set to arrive; she had removed the plants from her porch in case they got in the way of measuring, and the cookies were cooling on the counter. She had showered, gotten dressed, pulled her hair up, and even given Meryl a pep-talk.

 

“Fareeha is very nice. She’s not here to hurt you. You don’t have to be scared.”

 

Meryl brushed her cheek against Angela’s knee, oblivious. She wasn’t sure how the cat would react; she’d taken quite some time to fully warm up to Angela. Would she flee when Fareeha arrived? She had skittishly retreated to Angela’s room when Lena and Emily had helped her move the piano. Angela supposed it wouldn’t be the worst thing for that to happen again, but she’d hate to see Meryl frightened for no reason.

 

The doorbell rang, and anxiety again bubbled in Angela’s stomach.

 

She took a few deep breaths, and when she opened the front door, Fareeha was smiling easily on her front porch, a blue t-shirt tucked under a toolbelt that hung around her waist. Some of Angela’s nerves melted away.

 

“Good morning,” Angela smiled, ushering her in. “I have cookies, and tea… or coffee. Whatever you’d like.”

 

“Tea sounds great,” Fareeha said, following Angela into the front room, “thank you. I… oh.” A pause, and Angela turned back to find Fareeha bent down, petting a relaxed Meryl. She furrowed her brows, confused, as the cat rubbed her cheek against Fareeha’s arm and purred loudly.

 

“Can I pick her up?”

 

Angela nodded dumbly as Meryl nuzzled into Fareeha’s shoulder.

 

“She usually doesn’t… I was expecting her to make herself scarce while you were here, to be honest,” Angela laughed, amused once the shock had worn off. “She seems to love you, though.”

 

Fareeha smiled. “What’s her name?”

 

“Meryl. She was a shelter cat, and I never ended up changing her name.”

 

They walked all the way to the kitchen before Fareeha placed Meryl back on the floor. Angela shook her head as she filled up the kettle. “Honestly, she’s hardly even that friendly with me.”

 

Fareeha grinned as she sat down on one of the barstools Angela had at the counter. “You don’t just tell that to every guest, do you?”

 

Angela raised her hands in mock-offence. “I would never.”

 

Fareeha laughed lightly: a pause as she took one of the cookies from the counter. Angela’s shoulders relaxed a little. “So a swinging bench?” Fareeha prompted.

 

Angela nodded. “I always wanted one, but I was never able to in my old apartment. If it’s too out of your usual work, I understand—”

 

“Not at all—I’ve just never been asked before. Maybe the engineering will come in handy.”

 

 “You’re an engineer?” Angela stated in interest.

 

Fareeha nodded. “I was a firefighter right out of high school—for about six years. Then I lost half an arm, got a prosthesis, and realized improving upon prosthetic limbs was what I wanted to do, so I went and got a biomedical engineering degree. I picked up woodworking back when I was trying to improve the dexterity of my hand, and then it just… stuck.”

 

“Wow,” Angela shook her head. “That’s pretty incredible.”

 

“Life’s been a bit of a handful, but I’ve made it through.” Fareeha bit into a cookie nonchalantly, and laughter bubbled up in Angela’s chest. Fareeha raised her brows and smiled, as if pleasantly surprised, and the tension in the room seemed to dissipate.

 

Fareeha soon finished up her cookie, brushed her hands together, and stood up. Angela led her to the back porch, standing by as Fareeha took her measurements. It wasn’t long before she had plugged them into her phone, satisfied.

 

“We could hang the bench by chains from these overhead beams, if you’d like,” Fareeha said. “Shouldn’t be too complicated.”

 

Angela swallowed her excitement and nodded neutrally. “Sounds great.”

 

“I also wanted to talk to you about the design. Was there anything specific you wanted? Just a simple bench, or…?”

 

“Well, I…” Angela laughed gently, “I really like your birds.”

 

“Oh.” Fareeha looked pleasantly surprised again, but there was something else blended into her expression Angela couldn’t quite recognize. “I could probably adapt them into a relief carving.”

 

“If it’s not too much trouble...”

 

Fareeha smiled and quickly shook her head. “No.”

 

“Oh,” Angela smiled back for a moment. “Well… thank you.”

 

A few moments later, Fareeha sat cross-legged on Angela’s living room floor. She called for Meryl in a gentle voice, patting the side of her leg.

 

Angela watched Meryl amble towards Fareeha with curiosity. “Truly, I’d be impressed if you got her to do this.”

 

Meryl brushed up against Fareeha’s knee and shins. Fareeha patted her lap more insistently. “Come on, Meryl.”

 

The cat made the leap and sure enough, curled into Fareeha’s lap. Fareeha looked over at Angela, like _are you seeing this?!_

 

Angela couldn’t help but smile at the delight in Fareeha’s eyes. “Congratulations,” she said, laughing, unable to muster up even faux-jealousy that her own cat seemed to like Fareeha just as much as her.

 

* * *

 

 Fareeha had suggested the following Saturday for their neighbourhood tour, and true to her word, she showed up in a warm jacket in Angela’s doorway the next Saturday afternoon.

 

“Where are you taking me first, tour guide?” Angela asked.

 

Fareeha smiled as Angela let her in the house. “I was thinking the gym, actually.”

 

“Oh?” Angela teased, producing a jacket from her closet. “Would this be a hint?”

 

Fareeha laughed and raised her hands in surrender. “It’s because it’s on the way to the town centre. And I’m sure someone will be there for you to meet.”

 

“Someone?” Angela locked the door, and they left her driveway on foot.

 

“Aleks and Brigitte practically live in the gym on the weekends.”

 

“That sounds a bit intimidating.”

 

“Hardly. Brigitte volunteers at the cat shelter. She told me adamantly she wouldn’t adopt more than two. She has seven now.”

 

Angela laughed. “Sounds understandable.”

 

A woman indeed was at the gym, doing overhead dumbbell presses near the centre of the room.

 

“Brigitte?” Fareeha called. “I’ve brought a guest.”

 

“Hey, Fareeha.” Brigitte put the dumbbell downs and sat down on a bench. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, and indeed looked like she spent a lot of time in the gym. “And Fareeha’s guest. You must be Angela?”

 

Angela smiled. “How did you know?”

 

“When Lena knows something, word travels quickly.” She grinned. “It’s nice to meet you in person, though.”

 

Angela nodded and returned the sentiment.

 

Brigitte’s eyes flitted between Fareeha and Angela, taking in their jackets and jeans. “Neither of you two look prepared for a work out, though. No offence.”

 

Fareeha shook her head. “We’re just stopping by. I’m giving Angela a neighbourhood tour today.”

 

“Oh, a neighbourhood tour.” Brigitte raised an inquisitive brow at Fareeha. “Sounds fun.”

 

“Fareeha has told me you volunteer at the shelter I adopted my cat from,” Angela said. “Though I didn’t see you there at the time.”

 

“Oh! Which cat did you adopt?” Brigitte asked.

 

“Meryl. The little black short-hair.”

 

“I remember her being a sweetheart. A shy one, though.”

 

Angela looked at Fareeha and laughed. “Mhm.”

 

“Meryl loves me.” Fareeha said proudly.

 

Brigitte looked between them in amusement. “Well, you two have fun on the tour. I’m going to get back to it.”

 

“See you, Brig,” Fareeha said.

 

Angela waved her goodbye, and Fareeha continued to point out little places of interest as they walked:

_“This is the hardware store. Brigitte’s father works there weekdays.”_

_The corner store is just ahead. It’s the best place to buy flowers.”_

_“Here’s the café. I would recommend the chocolate croissants, personally.”_

 

The library was their first full stop at the town’s centre.

 

 “The library has a nice atmosphere,” Fareeha explained. “Just don’t expect it to be very quiet on Saturdays.”

 

“Oh? How come?”

 

“Reinhardt volunteers that day,” Fareeha chuckled. “You’ll see. We might find Mei, too.”

 

Angela’s eyes immediately landed on an older man dwarfing the front desk as they entered. “Good afternoon Fareeha and friend!” he said, his voice in fact carrying throughout most of the building.

 

Fareeha greeted him as they walked up to the desk and then gave Angela a quick introduction. “Angela moved in a few weeks ago. We’ve been walking around to help her get a feel for the neighbourhood.”

 

“Welcome to the neighbourhood, Angela! How has it been treating you?”

 

Angela shot Fareeha a smile. “Very nicely.”

 

“Very good!” Reinhardt gave Fareeha a pointed look. “Maybe Angela will take my book recommendations!

 

Fareeha eyed Angela. “I hope you like knights.”

 

Reinhardt shook his head at Angela. “For someone as honourable as Fareeha, you think she would appreciate them more!” He typed something, chicken-finger-style, into the computer. “Do you have any research interests, Angela?”

 

“Biotechnology. And medicine more generally.”

 

“Do we have a doctor?” Reinhardt asked; Angela nodded. “I will keep that in mind!”

 

“Huh.” Fareeha was looking at Angela curiously as they walked to a different side of the library. “I should have asked about what you do.”

 

Angela shrugged. “I never thought to say anything either, honestly.”

 

“Hi Fareeha!” a voice pulled them out of their conversation. Angela turned around, and a woman was waving at them, sitting at a table in front of her open laptop, surrounded by papers and coffee. She smiled at Angela.

 

“Hi Mei,” Fareeha said. “I was hoping to catch you here. This is Angela; she moved to the neighbourhood a few weeks ago.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Angela!”

 

“You as well,” Angela smiled back. She couldn’t help but peek at her papers. “Is this for a dissertation?”

 

Mei nodded, pleased. “Sustainable consumption and production.”

 

“I’d love to talk about it with you sometime.” Angela eyed the three empty coffee cups on the table; she felt a pang of empathy from her med school days. “But I think I should let you get back to work.”

 

Mei laughed. “It’s no trouble! But I’m sure you both have things to do. I’ll see you both around!”

 

They bid their goodbyes and sat outside on the library benches for a moment to re-orient themselves.

 

“Are you hungry?” Fareeha asked. “I thought we could get something to eat.”

 

 

They decided on the café nearby, and the sun set in purples and pinks as Angela sipped her coffee and Fareeha her black tea.

 

“I’ve actually been wanting to ask you something,” Angela said, fiddling with the handle of her coffee mug.

 

Fareeha swallowed a bite of croissant. “Yeah?”

 

“Well… I’ve been trying to work less overtime lately. But when you do that, you end up having a lot of extra time, and… I don’t know what to do with it.” Warmth travelled up Angela’s neck, and she glanced away from Fareeha’s curious gaze. “I… think I need a hobby.”

 

Fareeha tilted her head to the side, as if unsure of what Angela was asking.

 

Angela kicked herself internally. _You have to actually ask the question_. “I thought you might have some recommendations?”

 

“Oh, I see,” Fareeha smiled. “What kinds of things do you think you might enjoy?”

 

Angela laughed, embarrassed. “I honestly wish I knew.”

 

Fareeha looked beyond Angela, pondering this for a moment. “Well, if you wanted to learn to with carve, knit, paint, or play the piano, I could help.”

 

“I didn’t know you painted.”

 

“Technically, I do, but I’m not very good.”

 

Angela smiled. “At least we’d be on near-equal ground, then.”

 

“So painting it is?”

 

Angela nodded. “Painting it is.” She watched Fareeha take a sip of her tea. “Thank you. I think I just needed a… push.”

 

Fareeha hummed. “We could even paint the same prompt. Not show each other our paintings until we were both finished.”

 

Angela laughed. She seemed to be doing a bit more of that lately. “I like it.”

 

“How about… comfort? Peace? Solace?”

 

“Those are quite metaphysical,” Angela said. “They sound daunting to paint.”

 

“…Cactus?”

 

 “Perfect.”

 

Fareeha’s shoulders were relaxed when she laughed, and Angela asked a few more questions, gave a few more comments worthy of reply, even when she knew the sun had long-set over a dark sky, that she had long-finished her coffee and Fareeha her tea.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing a slower-paced fic for the first time has been... different, and I apologize for the growing pains! I have sweet things planned for later chapters and it's been so hard not to just... immediately make them fall in love with each other. 
> 
> It's almost definitely going to be over 5 chapters now, but I won't be as busy from May-August, so I should be able to complete it by the end of the summer. I appreciate the patience <3
> 
> Update: My friend Patricia made [this beautiful thing](https://imgur.com/a/zBhMpHx) when I mentioned Reinhardt volunteering at the library way back in March and you all need to see it.


	4. That Bench

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bench is revealed, painting shenanigans are had, and Fareeha runs into some trouble.

Fareeha set her carving knife down and took a step back from the bench.

 

The back of the bench bore a profile view of two kestrals facing each other in flight, wings fully extended. She was working on some final detailing on the wings, but, well, otherwise…

 

She surveyed it holistically. _Neat, intricate, centred…_

 

She sighed in relief. _Good._

 

She tapped her phone’s center button and cursed when _4:07AM_ flashed on her lock screen.

 

Her stomach growled, and her mouth carried the acidic tang of hunger. How long had she been carving?

 

Adrenaline faded and exhaustion suddenly bared its weight, and she made her way to the kitchen to rustle something up before she crashed.

 

She threw some toast into the toaster and poured canned soup into a pan to heat, resting her head on the counter for a moment. She’d never been quite so determined to make a commission perfect before.

 

She figured her resolve could be explained by a break in her usual pattern; she typically did commissions for either strangers or old friends, and she’d never made something for someone she was in the beginning, tentative stages of a friendship with.

 

The stakes felt higher.

 

Too exhausted to put anything on her toast, she simply dipped it into the soup and ate tiredly.

 

She fell asleep nearly as soon as her head hit the pillow.

 

* * *

 

 Having forgotten to turn her phone to silent, Fareeha woke up to the sound of a text later that morning at half past eleven.

 

Bleary-eyed, she picked up her phone from her nightstand.

_Hi, it’s Angela! Can I drop off some food?_

 

Fareeha smiled at her screen. _Leftovers? Sure._

 

Dots indicated her replying for a moment before Fareeha received: _Something like that._

 

A belated moment later, Fareeha realized she was still in her pajamas. She sent hastily: _I may have just woken up, though. Can you give me a few minutes to shower?_

She hoped Angela wouldn’t ask why she’d slept so late.

 

 

Angela showed up less than an hour later, a tray covered by foil in her hands. “It’s Älplermagronen,” she explained. “A bit like the Swiss version of kushari.”

 

“It smells delicious,” Fareeha said. She raised a questioning brow as Angela handed the tray to her. “And it’s still warm?”

 

Angela laughed lightly. “You’ve done so much for me the past few weeks, and not-leftovers was really the least I could do.”

 

Fareeha smiled thoughtfully. “Thank you.”

 

“My pleasure.”

 

A pause; January breeze picked up the flyaway hairs around Angela’s face.

 

“Do you want to come inside?” Fareeha asked. “I’m almost done the bench, if you wanted to see it.”

 

Angela smiled. “I’d love to.”

 

Fareeha led her through the living room and kitchen, where she placed the Älplermagronen on the counter, and then downstairs into the workshop.

 

Fareeha felt her heartbeat quickening. “I still have some detailing to do on the wings,” she said, turning to Angela, “but—”

 

Angela’s brows were furrowed as she gazed at the bench. She reached up to wipe away at her eyes.

 

Panic rose in Fareeha’s chest, and logic flew out the window. _Oh, she hates it—_

Then Angela smiled widely, and Fareeha’s shoulders slumped in relief. Angela wrapped her arms around Fareeha. “Thank you,” she said softly. “It’s absolutely beautiful.”

 

Fareeha let out a shaky breath and returned the embrace in the moment before Angela pulled away. “I’m glad you like it.”

 

* * *

 

 It was nice not having to prepare dinner the next evening.

 

Fareeha understood the comparison Angela had drawn between Älplermagronen and kushari, now; they were both, at their core, hodgepodge comfort dishes. They both had pasta as a base, though Älplermagronen seemed to be creamier, and lacked lentils. Fareeha’s first bite was pleasant—soft yet filling.

 

Angela had packaged the apple sauce separately, a note taped to the lid: _In case you don’t like it mixed in._

Fareeha had raised her brows at that.

 

Still, she poured a few dollops on top of the pasta.

 

Might as well have the full experience.

 

* * *

 

Fareeha narrowed her eyes at the assortment of frozen fruit. The medley package was the best deal, but she already had frozen blueberries in her freezer, which was one of its components… maybe she could just get the mango chunks—

 

“Hi, stranger.”

 

Fareeha blinked, looked up from the fruit bags, and Angela stood in front of her, a basket in the crook of her arm.

 

“Hello Angela,” Fareeha dipped her head, smiling. “The dish you made was delicious, by the way.”

 

Angela smiled back, pleased. “Did you eat the apple sauce with it?”

 

Fareeha nodded proudly. “I did. It was unexpected, but I liked it.”

 

Angela beamed. “Good.”

 

They wandered around the store together for some time; Fareeha was sure her frozen fruit was defrosting, but she couldn’t be too bothered.

 

Angela practically skipped over to the free samples of cheese in the dairy aisle, offering one to Fareeha and taking two of them for herself. Fareeha pointed to the overhead sign: _One only_. “I may have to call the police,” she said gravely.

 

“You wouldn’t,” Angela said, swallowing one of the pieces. “My own neighbour.”

 

“It isn’t unheard of to call the police on your neighbours.”

 

“Yes, but it’s usually because of loud parties, not broken free sample rules.”

 

Fareeha narrowed her eyes playfully. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you then, for any loud parties.”

 

* * *

 

From the other side of Angela’s living room, Fareeha watched Angela measure the lengths of her canvas with a cautious precision. Angela furrowed her brows, intermittently scribbling down numbers. “Am I allowed to look up a reference?” Angela asked.

 

Fareeha resumed mixing her sky blue. “You’re allowed to do whatever you like.” She eyed Angela again; the front of her canvas was strategically out of Fareeha’s line of sight, but her pencil appeared to be hovering over its surface. “Are you sketching first?”

 

Angela hummed. “Maybe.” She hovered over the canvas for a moment longer and then seemed to reconsider, sticking the pencil through her ponytail thoughtlessly.

 

Fareeha chuckled to herself. “As soon as I think you’re organized and systematic, you’ll do something like that.”

 

“Like what?” Angela asked.

 

“Like... shoving a pencil in your hair like it’s something you do every day.”

 

Angela extricated the pencil sheepishly. “I guess I can’t defend myself from this one.”

 

Fareeha grinned as she dipped a large brush into her blue. “I didn’t mean it was bad. I’m just still figuring you out.”

 

Angela hummed, finally making her first pencil line on the canvas. “Honestly, when I first met you,” she mused, “I thought you were very serious.”

 

Fareeha halted her brush. “Really?”

 

“Yes! You just seemed rather… earnest. I guess you are, still, but I didn’t realize at the time how many other sides you have to you.”

 

“Oh? Like what?”

 

“You’re playful. And teasing, at times.”

 

Fareeha grinned. “You’re very teasable.”

 

“I’m just not used to it,” Angela said. “Most of my colleagues are too scared of me to ever tease.”

 

“Scary?” Fareeha squinted at her. “I can’t see it.”

 

“Me neither.” Angela shook her head. “But hospital hierarchies can be… strange.”

 

Fareeha hummed thoughtfully, her canvas nearing half-blue. “You don’t have any family members who tease you good-naturedly? Friends outside of work?”

 

“Not until recently,” Angela said, a tinge of something in her voice. Sadness? Embarrassment?

 

Whatever it was, Fareeha felt a certain desire to quell it. “I’ll have to make up for them, then,” she said. “Nerd.”

 

Angela laughed, and warmth settled in Fareeha’s chest. “That was a devastating blow, Fareeha. I’m not sure I’ll recover.”

 

After a long pause, Angela added, “I also think you’re tender. Even if you’re not very forthright about it.”

 

Fareeha scratched a non-existent itch on her cheek, happy her canvas acted a kind of barrier. “I think… you have good intuition.”

 

Angela smiled, pleased. In the meantime, Fareeha finished her blue sky, dipping a smaller brush into white, after that: adding a couple of small, airy clouds to the sky.

 

“You’re painting with such confidence,” Angela said after a few quiet moments. “I know I’m not allowed to look, but it’s making me curious.”

 

Fareeha grinned. “I’ve just forgone perfectionism and freed myself from the prison of expectations.”

 

“Some of us find that prison comfortable.”

 

Fareeha raised a brow. “If you say so.”

 

* * *

 

 

Three days later, Fareeha again found herself in Angela’s living room.

 

A couple splatters of paint had found their way onto Angela’s old t-shirt, and her hair was falling out of her ponytail in every which-way. She paced around the room, groaning quietly, running her hands absently through her hair. Fareeha had never seen her quite like this.

 

“Angela,” Fareeha said firmly.

 

Angela blinked up at Fareeha, surprised.

 

“It doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t even have to be good. We’re doing this for _fun_.”

 

“Fun,” Angela repeated. Her gaze flicked from her paintbrush, to her canvas, to Fareeha. She nodded with a sudden resolve. “You’re right.”

 

And so she let her hair loose and insisted on playing corny, upbeat music; Fareeha stopped using her paintbrush and started left-handed finger-painting, and Angela laughed at first, then did the same.

 

They both finished not long after, and after a week of anticipation, Fareeha was quite excited for the mutual reveal.

 

Calling Fareeha’s painting impressionistic would perhaps be generous; she hadn’t finger-painted since kindergarten, after all. It did resemble a cactus, though the point at which she switched from paintbrush to finger was quite obvious, and it had made her subject appear a bit disjointed.

 

Angela stifled a small laugh. “It seems it was quite good before you started finger-painting.”

 

“I had fun,” Fareeha clapped for emphasis, looking at Angela pointedly, “and that’s all that matters.”

 

Angela just smiled, conceded. “So did I.”

 

Angela had painted a painstakingly-blended orange sunset behind a very simple cactus; the contrast between the premediated brush-painted background and the clumsy finger-painted cactus was similarly drastic, though the separation between the background and foreground gave it some semblance of intentionality.

 

“It’s a bit… avant garde, actually,” Fareeha said.

 

Angela laughed. “Do you think I could sell it?”

 

“I don’t know,” Fareeha said, “what if I’d rather put it up in my house?”

 

Angela raised her brows. “You want it?”

 

Fareeha nodded. “It would remind me of this nice evening we’ve been having.”

 

Angela smiled, not quite meeting Fareeha’s eyes. “What if I want to put them up in _my_ house?” she teased.

 

“Then I’d graciously donate my work and let you.”

 

Angela seemed in thought for a moment. “How about you take mine and I take yours?”

 

 

Late that evening, they sat on the floor of Angela’s still rather sparse living room, stubborn paint still clinging to their skin. The glasses of wine Angela had poured on the coffee table made the arrangement feel a bit like an overgrown sleepover.

 

“You were right,” Angela said, adjusting herself on some pillows, “and this was easier than I thought it was going to be.”

 

“If you need more of a challenge next time,” Fareeha joked, “you can always use me as your next prompt.”

 

Angela examined her seriously for a moment. “I don’t think I could do you justice.”

 

Feeling uncertain under Angela’s sudden scrutiny, Fareeha fumbled for something to say. “I don’t think I could do you either.” She halted at the look on Angela’s face, clearing her throat. “I mean—it’s just a lot of pressure, to get someone right.”

 

“Hold on,” Angela narrowed her eyes at her. “You have paint on your face.”

 

Angela left and came back with a damp paper towel. She kneeled beside her and wiped Fareeha’s cheek, and Fareeha didn’t quite know where to look; Angela’s frown of concentration was a little too close to view longer than a moment at a time, her eyes a little too bright: warm and blue like a clear, summer sky.

 

Fareeha walked the quiet street home that night, Angela’s painting secure in her hands.

 

Definitely couldn’t do her justice.

 

* * *

 

 Emily called the next evening.

 

“Lena and I were thinking of throwing a horror movie marathon tomorrow. And Lena really wants to show off our new spiralizer. If you’re free.”

 

Beyond the fact that this sounded like a small nightmare to Fareeha (the horror movies, not the spiralizer), she had a worthy excuse:

 

“I can’t tomorrow. I’m installing a swinging bench at Angela’s. I’ve never done it before, so I’m not sure how long it will take.”

 

“Ooh,” Emily said, “never mind me, then. Are you two getting on well?”

 

“Yeah, we are,” Fareeha said, couldn’t help her small smile. “We’ve been painting.”

 

“Painting?”

 

“She’s a bit of a… reformed workaholic and doesn’t have many hobbies outside of work. So we’ve been painting together.”

 

“That’s… really cute, Fareeha.”

 

Quiet alarm bells went off in Fareeha’s head. “Uh.”

 

“I won’t do anything,” Emily said seriously, “I promise.” The smile quickly returned to her voice, however. “And you two seem to be doing fine without me, anyway.”

 

“We’re not even…” Fareeha rubbed at her brows. “She’s not even…”

 

“Okay! I understand. I should let you go.” Fareeha heard her fumbling with her phone for a moment. “Have fun tomorrow!”

 

* * *

 

 After agonizing over the detailing for longer than she’d ever admit, Fareeha carried the bench down the street to Angela’s the next day after work.

 

It took less time than Fareeha expected to connect the bench to Angela’s porch beams, and after Angela paid Fareeha (tipping generously), they sat on the bench outside, February clouds casting a cool dampness to the air. The sun would set soon, though overcast would conceal the colours of it setting.

 

The days were getting longer and warmer, but the going was still slow.

 

The air dusted Angela’s cheeks pink. She gestured to herself, and then to Fareeha’s shoulder. “Do you mind…?”

 

Fareeha blinked. “I’m not sure what you mean?”

 

Angela laughed awkwardly, and Fareeha felt the weight of Angela’s head on her shoulder, the brush of her soft hair against her neck. “Do you mind this?”

 

“No,” Fareeha said. “Consider my shoulder free real estate.”

 

She felt the shake of Angela’s laughter. “Good to know.”

 

There was a tinge in Fareeha’s chest, in a deep, fragile place she’d forgotten about; the feeling washed over her like warm sun after a long winter.

 

“Thank you,” Angela said, after a long, quiet moment.

 

Fareeha raised a brow. “For what?”

 

“Whenever we spend time together,” Angela’s voice was gentle, “I think about how happy I am that I moved here.”

 

Fareeha’s heart leapt. “I’m happy you moved here, too, Ange.”

 

“I thought maybe I was drawn to this house because I wanted a project. But now, I don’t think that was what I was seeking. I think I wanted to feel less alone.”

 

“And do you?” Fareeha asked.

 

Angela nodded. “I do.”

 

“Good.”

 

Another pause. “I moved here three years ago, around my 30th birthday,” Fareeha said. “I always thought I couldn’t be alone if I wanted to settle down and move outside the city, but eventually I decided it shouldn’t matter.”

 

Angela hummed in agreement. “Are you ever lonely?” she asked.

 

“Sometimes. I’m lucky to have quite a few friends here, but most of them do have partners, and… sometimes it does get to me. Not jealousy, but…”

 

“Longing?”

 

Fareeha rubbed her eyes. “When you say it like that, it sounds a bit... embarrassing.”

 

“A desire for strong, social bonds is not embarrassing. It’s just human,” Angela said. “And you have another single friend, now, at least. And I’m older than you, at that.”

 

“How old are you?” Fareeha asked, looking down at her in interest.

 

“Thirty-seven.”

 

“Hmm, that’s ancient,” Fareeha said, deadpan. “Practically old enough to be my mother.”

 

Angela swatted Fareeha’s arm. “That’s ridiculous,” she said, surprised laughter belying her attempts to be indignant.

 

“Tell me what wisdom these extra four to five years have bestowed upon you,” Fareeha said solemnly.

 

Angela huffed; Fareeha continued to look at her expectantly. Eventually, she caved: “Make a spontaneous decision every once in a while. And… always check the expiration date before you buy something at the grocery store.”

 

Fareeha nodded gravely. “Thank you for your insights.”

 

Angela lifted her head off Fareeha’s shoulder to give her a _look_ before settling it back down.

  

* * *

 

 

The lightness in Fareeha’s chest carried her home that night and into her dreams; she’d been floating over a sunset beach, and Angela was there, too, hair catching the golden tones of the sky. They must have been flying.

 

She basked in the warmth of the dream for a moment before it would inevitably start to feel silly; Saturday morning meant she was in no rush. She slowly made her way downstairs, planning to start breakfast, when she stepped into something wet.

 

She surveyed the floor, and panic quickly rose in her chest; rushes of water flowed rapidly into the kitchen. She plodded through shin-deep water to find the source; water was streaming out of a burst pipe in the bathroom.

 

_Fuck._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10k! I know it's not very long for some, but I never thought me and my tiny attention span would be able to get this far in a continuous fic, so I feel somewhat accomplished! The next chapters are going to be the most fun to write, so I shouldn't have any trouble getting the next one up soon-ish.
> 
> Thanks to dliess for the horror movie idea :)


	5. Intertwine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela and Fareeha share their space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Bon who gave me some great ideas/pointers once I'd finished the draft <3
> 
> Edit: Forgot to link it before, but [this snippet of Anne Lister's diary](https://images-ext-2.discordapp.net/external/2H3oOwwX6BObX2Iocgi3ddCSqjGVlxwc7JgcWXPZBwY/https/66.media.tumblr.com/061b1778837cbd5ae2eb2570e5cbac90/tumblr_prtim0xRUC1y5z7zro1_1280.jpg) was the inspiration for the first scene of this chapter!

Angela repositioned herself in the darkness for the dozenth time.

 

She was, very stubbornly, awake.

 

She sighed into a pillow. If only she could stop… thinking for a few moments.

 

Her mind had already cycled through some choice anxieties, and once she’d talked herself through the worst of those, it was onto the blunt ache of loneliness.

 

It was sharper than usual, today: a violent pain she couldn’t will away alone.

 

Her heart clenched with buried fear, with lurking hopelessness, that she’d never find someone to mend that wound.

 

Lying in darkness made it much harder to ignore.

 

Her bed was too big, her house was too big…

 

And a desire to be held overwhelmed her.

 

Pathetic, she thought, as she ripped off her covers and walked to the laundry room, two of her biggest pillows on tow.

 

Pathetic, she thought, as she shoved both of them into the dryer, sitting on the chair as she waited.

 

She took the hot pillows back to her room, placing one between her knees and holding another to her chest. She pulled the covers back over herself to retain the heat.

 

Pathetic, she thought, but warm.

 

* * *

 

Angela had noticed the strange blue truck parked in front of Fareeha’s house that morning on her commute; workers had carried supplies to and from, and a long, blue tube ran through Fareeha’s door.

 

In case Fareeha was in the middle of something, Angela didn’t call her until that evening. She smoothed her hand over the fabric of the couch she’d recently, _finally_ , purchased, listening to the drawn-out dial tone.

 

“Hey,” Fareeha answered on the fifth ring, voice dragging in a way Angela hadn’t heard before.

 

“Is everything okay?” Angela asked. “I saw a truck in front of your house this morning."

 

“Yeah, I’m alright,” she reassured, though she sounded so dull and tired Angela wasn’t much convinced. “I had a pipe burst sometime last night; it’s a water extraction unit.”

 

Angela tapped her fingers on her knee as Fareeha went on, heart beat quickening. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

 

“I’m crashing on Lena and Emily’s couch.”

 

“Is it… comfortable?” Angela stalled.

 

Angela heard a hint of a smile in Fareeha’s voice. “For a couch, I’d say so.”

 

A pause, and Angela forcibly swallowed her nerves. “Would you rather stay with me? I do have a spare bedroom.” She held her breath for a moment. “It even has a bed now, miraculously.”

 

A pause on the other end of the line. “Are you sure?”

 

“Of course.” Angela exhaled softly in relief. “It’s too empty here, anyway.”

 

“That means a lot, Angela,” Fareeha said, voice softening. “Thank you. I’ll let Lena and Emily know, and I’ll call you back?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Angela buzzed hopefully for the next half hour. Her mind teamed with possibilities: making Fareeha chocolate pancakes on a Saturday morning (she’d gotten quite good at that, recently), watching movies together in the evening (she had some ideas for films), going for park walks and then coming home to make warm drinks…

 

It was childish, she knew, but she’d been living alone so long…

 

Angela only had a few more minutes to make her bed and pace before Fareeha called back:

 

“How did Lena and Emily feel about it?” Angela asked.

 

“Oh,” Fareeha laughed, “they weren’t offended in the least. In fact, they seemed pretty eager about getting me out, all the sudden.”

 

Angela smiled, relieved some of the lightness had returned to Fareeha’s voice. “They’re probably just happy you’ll have a real bed here.”

 

Fareeha exhaled a laugh. “Maybe.” A pause. “I haven’t really unpacked here, so I can come whenever. Do you want me now?”

 

“Now is perfect.”

 

* * *

 

 Fareeha was understandably still exhausted from her stressful pipe-bursting day, and Angela had to force her to bed not long after she arrived after she nearly dozed off twice during conversation.

 

Angela squeezed Fareeha’s shoulder from across the couch. “You’re allowed to sleep, you know.”

 

Fareeha leaned her head against the top cushions. “But I like spending time with you.”

 

Angela’s chest warmed at the sleepy sincerity in her eyes. “That’s allowed, too,” she teased, “but we have lots of time—tomorrow and after that.”

 

* * *

 

Angela was surprised to wake naturally the next morning instead of to a cat licking her arm. She pulled a sweater over herself and padded to the hallway.

 

“Meryl?” she called. “Are you hungry?”

 

She did a quick scope of Meryl’s favourite places: under Angela’s bed, in her plush cat-bed downstairs, on the red chair in the living room. She checked the places Meryl didn’t care much for, too, until the spare room was the only remaining place.

 

She knocked lightly on the open doorframe. “Fareeha?”

 

No response.

 

She entered cautiously and quietly. She covered her mouth at the sight: Fareeha dozed on her back, and Meryl slept beside her, her head and paws resting on Fareeha’s stomach.

 

Beaming, Angela turned on her heel and tiptoed out.

 

* * *

 

Sleep eluded Angela once again the following night.

 

She cycled through some worries and finally gave up fabricating a story in her head and carried her pillows downstairs.

 

She hoped Fareeha was sleeping well, at least (or that the dryer didn’t wake her. Was Fareeha a light sleeper? She didn’t even know).

 

Just as she was about to enter the laundry room, she walked into something solid. Angela froze, stick-still, and then wilted in relief. “Oh, god, Fareeha,” she breathed, making out her shape amidst the darkness.

 

Fareeha looked back at Angela, wide-eyed. “Sorry.” She picked up the pillow Angela had dropped and handed it back to her. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“Thanks,” she said, taking the pillow and holding It against her chest. “Don’t worry about it; it’s just so late. I hope you’ve slept some already.”

 

“Not exactly. I was just… thinking. And then I got hungry, after some time…”

 

Angela smiled ruefully. “I get it,” she said, flicking on an overhead light; they both squinted for a moment. “But now that you mention it… I could go for a late-night snack, too.” She raised a brow. “Do you like chocolate chip pancakes?”

 

 

Fareeha had quite an appetite at 2AM, as it turned out.

 

She’d been cutting into her third pancake when she casually asked what Angela’s pillows had been for. “Were you taking them to sleep on the couch?”

 

Angela’s cheeks warmed. “Not exactly. I… was going to put them in the dryer for a few minutes. Having something warm to hold helps me sleep.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah,” Angela swallowed. “It’s a bit pitiful, really, but…”

 

Fareeha squeezed Angela’s hand across the counter, and Angela relaxed at the feeling of cool metal against her skin. “It doesn’t sound that way at all.” Fareeha looked at her earnestly. “Only reason I’ve never done it myself is because I’ve never thought of it.”

 

“I could throw your pillows in, too. Though...” Angela trailed off, eyes trained on the floor. “I suppose if you sleep in my bed, neither of us would need to.”

 

“Was this your secret agenda all along? Getting me to stay with you so we could cuddle?"

 

Angela suddenly felt very conscious of what she’d been asking previously, of Fareeha’s eyes on her. She just shook her head, the jest of Fareeha’s statement lost to her own cloud of anxiety.

 

“Hey,” Fareeha said gently; Angela looked at her. “Teasing. Even if that was your secret agenda, I’d be okay with it.”

 

Angela exhaled a small laugh.

 

 

Minutes later, Fareeha reached over the bed to flick off the lamp. The feeling of Fareeha underneath Angela felt foreign for a moment, and then it was as if a crater in her chest had lifted, and she sagged with relief. She’d been starved for this feeling, and she savoured every warm, innocent touch: the stroke of Fareeha’s hand through her shirt, the contact with Fareeha’s steadily rising chest, in the short moments before sleep overtook her.

 

* * *

 

Angela took a moment to orient herself when she woke a few hours later. She was in her bed, but her head was resting on something other than her usual pillow. It rose and fell predictably, emanated a comfortable warmth, and smelled lightly of detergent.

 

“Oh,” Angela mumbled. She felt a small amount of wetness against her cheek, and her eyes snapped open. Fareeha’s hands broke their hold as Angela propped herself up.

 

“Hm?” Fareeha hummed.

 

“Sorry about the, uh…” she pointed to the damp spot on Fareeha’s shirt.

 

A grin slowly spread on Fareeha’s lips. “You’re a drooler, huh?” she asked, voice low from sleep.

 

“Not… normally?” Angela wasn’t sure if that was more or less incriminating. “I slept well.”

 

“Then I’m honoured,” Fareeha said, “to be a rare recipient of your drool.”

 

It was said in jest, but there was an easy tone of _don’t worry about it_ in her voice, and Angela relaxed. She sat up on the bed, a lightness to her chest; her eyes travelled leisurely to her alarm clock; they widened at _10:10_.

 

“It’s late,” Angela said.

 

“We were up late last night,” Fareeha said, propping herself up. “I can make us an early lunch.”

 

Fareeha left to brush her teeth, and Angela remained on the bed for a moment. She smiled freely, and then exhaled gently.

 

It felt good to have someone this close.

 

* * *

 

They settled into a routine over the next couple of weeks.

 

Fareeha finished work an hour before Angela, and was usually nearly finished making dinner when she came home. Coming home to someone else—to warmth and light and the smell of food cooking…

 

To Fareeha’s calming, easy presence…

 

The knowledge of its transience made Angela’s heart ache.

 

It didn’t help that Fareeha learned Meryl’s feeding schedule and when to water the plants, noted Angela’s favourite dinner meals so she could cook them most often, came home with early spring daffodils for the kitchen, played soothing melodies on the piano in the evening.

 

It didn’t help that Angela made Fareeha tea alongside her coffee in the morning, filled her cart with things Fareeha liked alongside her usual staples at the grocery store, left her little notes around the house when she seemed overwhelmed from work, or even when she didn’t, after Fareeha showed her how to fold them into elegant little shapes.

 

And despite her attempts at resistance, Angela’s heart settled into a life intertwined with another.

 

* * *

 

 Angela’s eyelids grew heavy halfway through the movie, and she slowly sunk into the couch, leaning her head on Fareeha’s shoulder, feeling the vibrations of her soft laughter.

 

“We can finish the movie tomorrow, if you’d like,” Fareeha said.

 

Angela hummed tiredly. “Don’t want to get up.”

 

“You’ll have to get up eventually.”

 

Angela groaned weakly. “Humour me.”

 

“You really want to fall asleep on the couch?”

 

“Doesn’t sound _that_ terrible.” Angela leaned heavily on Fareeha, finding comfort in the rise and fall of her chest. “You’re so warm,” Angela muttered absently.

 

“Angela.”

 

She yawned in response.

 

“Let’s make a compromise,” Fareeha said. “We’ll get ready for bed, and then come back.”

 

And so Angela dragged herself off of the couch and into the bathroom, Fareeha right behind her. Fareeha left to retrieve her toothbrush in the spare room and returned, standing beside Angela as they brushed their teeth.

 

Fareeha washed her face with something that foamed, and Angela with a light soap, though Fareeha complained good-naturedly that Angela was flicking water on her in the process.

 

“I can’t open my eyes to see where I’m flicking water,” Angela argued. “This soap burns my eyes.”

 

“You’re getting the counter wet, too,” Fareeha said.

 

“That’s why we have towels,” Angela said, demonstrating by wiping her rinsed face with one towel and the countertop with another.

 

She looked up at Fareeha as if to say, _see?,_ though any vestiges of teasing were gone from Fareeha’s expression; her gaze was a little more pointed than Angela was used to.

 

“What?” Angela prompted.

 

Fareeha laughed lightly, looked away. “Nothing. I’ll meet you back at the couch in a minute?”

 

Angela raised a brow. “Where are you going first?”

 

Fareeha waved her toothbrush in her hand. “Putting this back in the spare room.”

 

Angela shrugged, taking the toothbrush from her and putting it in her holder. “Just keep it here,” she said simply.

 

She went to retrieve a bathroom cup for Fareeha, and they walked back to the living room together.

 

Fareeha lay down on her back on the couch, motioning for Angela to join her. Apparently sensing an opportunity, Meryl chose that moment to prance across the room and hop onto Fareeha’s stomach.

 

After the initial shock, Fareeha laughed unabashedly. Angela did see the humour in being displaced by a cat. Meryl curled up comfortably, satisfied with herself.

 

“I’m still not sure I believe she’s normally as shy as you say she is,” Fareeha said once their laughter dispersed, scratching the top of Meryl’s head.

 

“I swear—she’s been shy with everybody but you. Even me at first,” Angela explained. “The shelter even told me she couldn’t live with men because she gets too anxious around them.”

 

Fareeha looked at Angela curiously. “I see.”

 

Meryl suddenly pounced off Fareeha’s lap and ran to the other side of the room, in pursuit of the little spinning toy Fareeha had carved her the other night.

 

The couch wasn’t particularly large, and Angela tried her best to carefully lower herself more-or-less on top of Fareeha, though she managed to elbow her in the side anyway.

 

They both winced, and Angela smoothed her palm over the area on instinct. “Sorry.”

 

Fareeha squirmed a little. “It’s fine,” she said. “But your hand really tickles.”

 

“Oh?” Angela said, grinning devilishly.

 

Fareeha narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

 

She would, as it turned out, and soon Fareeha squirmed on the couch and shook with laughter. “Stop,” she gasped, and Angela did, though she couldn’t help the big grin on her face.

 

“You just… you looked like a worm,” Angela explained.

 

Fareeha looked up at her in mock-offence. “I came here to hold you, not to get… tickled and called a _worm_.”

 

Angela snorted, though she hummed, conceding. “You’re much better than a worm,” she said, resting her head gingerly on Fareeha’s chest.

 

Fareeha wrapped her arms loosely around Angela’s back. “I’ve always dreamed of hearing that,” she said solemnly.

 

Angela laughed, Fareeha’s heart beating steadily in her ears. Deep content washed over her: a feeling she as anyone knew was difficult to replicate.

 

* * *

 

 Angela traced her finger down from where Fareeha’s sleeve ended, to the inner crease of her elbow, to her defined forearm, down to her wrist, stopping at her palm.

 

Fareeha’s other hand was on Angela’s back, scratching occasionally, the smooth metal pleasant through the layer of her shirt.

 

Fareeha smiled at Angela, amused at her tracing, and Angela watched her for a moment, swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.

 

Fareeha was the first person Angela had trusted this much in ages, and she was simply… trying to make up for all the touch she’d been craving.

 

That was it.

 

“Fareeha?”

 

Fareeha’s hand paused on her back. “Yeah?”

 

“If I get too… touchy feely, let me know.”

 

“I’ve been just as touchy as you: haven’t I?” She smoothed a few hairs out of Angela’s face, trailed her hand down Angela’s head.

 

Angela tried hard not to look like she was melting into Fareeha. “Yeah,” she sighed. “True.”

 

Fareeha laughed softly, still running her hand lightly through Angela’s hair.

 

“I’d like to plant a garden here during the growing season,” Angela mused sleepily.

 

“Yeah? What would you plant?”

 

“Flowers; English roses, violets, marigolds… and herbs, maybe? I’ve heard about herb spirals…”

 

“How about strawberries?”

 

“Mm, yes, that sounds like a good addition,” Angela said. “Do you want to join me?”

 

“Join you?”

 

“It could be our garden. You could come in anytime.”

 

Fareeha smiled. “You’ll have to let me do some of the work, though. Can’t be stealing your produce without contributing.”

 

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

Angela held her hot tea close to her body on the porch bench; the bite of early spring still felt harsh on her skin. The day had been clear, and the sky was a vivid expanse of stars. She took the tentative first sip of her tea, blanketed under clusters of glowing pinpricks.

 

“Do you mind if I join you?” Fareeha asked, holding a red, patterned blanket in her arms. She’d never changed out of her white dress shirt from work.

 

“Not at all. How was the drug store?”

 

“Quiet, at this time of night.” Fareeha placed the blanket over Angela’s shoulders before sitting down next to her; Angela smiled in thanks. “I like where you put my painting.”

 

“Oh,” Angela smiled, pleased she’d noticed right away. She’d nailed it up on the kitchen wall while Fareeha had been out that evening. “I’m glad.”

 

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, but Fareeha’s brow was furrowed, even as she looked at the stars.

 

“Anything on your mind?” Angela asked quietly.

 

Fareeha’s small smile was somewhere between rueful and uncertain. “It looks like I can move back home tomorrow.”

 

“Oh.” Angela swallowed, tried her best to smile. “Well. That’s good!”

 

Fareeha nodded slowly. She turned to Angela, eyes solemn in the moonlight. “You can always stay at my place, you know. You don’t even need a proper reason.”

 

Angela leaned her head against Fareeha’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

After they said their goodbyes, and Angela had closed her door for the last time that following day, her sigh echoed hollow throughout the house.

 

Too empty, and too quiet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Love and Uncertainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha comes to terms with some feelings. Angela breaks and heals again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't figure out for the life of me how to not double-space these chapters. Please forgive me

Fareeha unfolded the small, blue note, one of the first ones Angela had left her:

 

_There’s lots of food in the fridge for you to pack a lunch with. Feel free to take whatever you’d like!_

_See you this evening,_

_A_

 

Then an especially-crumpled orange one that had been a flower, placed on the kitchen table one Friday morning:

 

_Fareeha,_

_I’ve come up with some movie choices for tonight. Can’t wait to share them with you. You decide after that!_

_A_

 

That had been a long, exhausting day, and the knowledge that she’d come home to a quiet movie and the soft, swirling touches of Angela’s fingers had been a much-needed dose of strength.

 

Angela had left several other notes, some more mundane than others, all laced with an easy domesticity that made something bloom in Fareeha’s chest she was afraid to nurture.

 

Fareeha treasured the last note Angela had left most, a pink one that had been stuck to the doorway:

 

_Fareeha,_

_I can’t tell you how much I’ve loved having you here. Come back any time—really. I won’t be able to use up all that tea otherwise. <3 _

_A_

 

That one always made Fareeha smile (at some point she’d try to get Angela into black tea), but that night, the soft, fond feeling was quickly replaced by a growing pit of uncertainty.

 

She folded the notes back into neat squares and secured them in her night table drawer. She lay on her back on the bed and sighed, staring at the light fixture so long it burned a green-blue blob in her vision.

 

It had been a small, nagging thought she’d pushed to the back of her mind for months:

 

_You won’t last long without developing at least some feelings for her._

 

The casual intimacy of the last two weeks had forced her to confront that she hadn’t.

 

A familiar, warm feeling rose up in her chest whenever she thought of her. It was the content she felt in her bones when Angela leaned against her, or squeezed her hand;

 

It was Angela’s head on her chest, close enough that Fareeha could smell the lemony scent of her shampoo;

 

It was Angela’s bare face: the soft creases on her forehead and beneath her eyes, the occasional peppering of freckles, and Fareeha’s breath taken away;

 

It was the sweet little noises she’d make when Fareeha ran her hands through her hair, the way she pulled Fareeha so close in her sleep;

 

It was the way she’d talk about life, full of joy and certainty and fondness;

 

It was a tenderness that might compel Fareeha to do some rather stupid things, if Angela ever gave her the chance.

 

 

A crush. _A crush_. God. She hadn’t had one of those in years.

 

* * *

 

Shifting back into Fareeha’s old routine felt like trying to walk in shoes that didn’t fit anymore.

 

Her first week alone was interspersed with the leftovers of cooking for two without thinking and the tossing and turning of a body that’s forgotten how to drift off alone.

 

Every other day she went to the gym after work; on off days she’d busy herself with the piano in the evenings, or with a delicate little English rose she’d started to carve. Perhaps she’d make it part of that collection for her someone, add it to the blanket and the birds.

 

For a few evenings, she’d worked on an intricate wood frame she’d been commissioned to carve by a man across town. He’d wanted it lined with small, engraved evergreen trees that reminded him of his hometown in the mountains.

 

But quickly that was finished, and Fareeha had little to distract herself from how _off_ everything felt. She’d get used to it eventually—back into the rhythm of a solo life—and it wouldn’t hurt nearly as much, after that.

 

But it pained her how much she wanted to resist drifting back into that life.

 

She could just drop by; it wasn’t as if it was out of her way. But there was always the chance that Angela was busy, or wanted to be alone, or was sick of Fareeha after living with her two weeks—

 

She thought of Angela’s scribbly, black scrawl on pink paper: _Come back any time—really._

 

 

Angela resolved her dilemma by showing up at her house with dinner one night.

 

Fareeha took the plate from Angela’s waiting hands and felt her heart settle into that tender place. “I’m not going to complain if you bring me food,” she said, “but you don’t have to use it as an excuse to come over.”

 

“I know,” Angela said simply. “I’ve missed you.”

 

It was getting warmer, and Angela had a cardigan tied around the waist of her tank top. She was a bit flushed, and golden, evening sun brought out the sea blue in her eyes. Her smile was so soft, and bright, and Fareeha resisted the urge to avert her eyes; springtime looked beautiful on her.

 

Fareeha led her into the kitchen and placed the plate on the table. Angela settled naturally into Fareeha’s arms once the obstacle was removed; Fareeha had anticipated that. “I’ve missed you, too,” Fareeha murmured. “How have you been sleeping?”

 

A soft admission. “Not as well.”

 

Fareeha squeezed her a little tighter. “You’re welcome to sleep over, if you’d like.”

 

“I think I would,” Angela echoed, Fareeha smiled, feeling her exhale. “How are you doing?”

 

“Worn out, today,” Fareeha admitted. “But better, now that you’re here.”

 

Angela hummed in sympathy. “We could eat dinner and go right to bed.”

 

Fareeha chuckled. “I wouldn’t be opposed.”

 

They didn’t bother to separate the stir fry Angela had brought onto separate plates, finding forks and placing the dish in between them. Fareeha speared a piece of broccoli a moment before Angela got to it, their forks colliding with a _clink_.

 

Fareeha gave Angela a triumphant wink as she chewed her broccoli. Angela just twirled some noodles on her fork and poked Fareeha on the arm. “You better watch it,” Angela said.

 

“Meet me at 10pm behind the 7-Eleven,” Fareeha said. “Then we’ll take this outside.”

 

Angela laughed. “You’re taller _and_ more muscular. I can’t imagine I could win.”

 

“I don’t know,” Fareeha shrugged, “you do know my weakness now.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Angela asked. Fareeha could see the gears turning in her head. “Oh yes,” she recalled, grinned wickedly. “I’ll remember that.”

 

 

Fareeha found Angela a t-shirt and a pair of loose pants to wear to bed, along with a spare toothbrush she’d never opened from the dentist.

 

After getting ready to sleep, Fareeha flopped onto her stomach on the bed without much thought. Fareeha could feel Angela settling down beside her. She rested her palms on Fareeha’s back.

 

“Is this alright?” Angela dug her fingers in slightly. “It always used to help me relax.”

 

Fareeha sighed gently, feeling the tension ease out of her. “Yeah. Go for it.” She smiled as Angela began to knead her back with her knuckles. “Just don’t exploit my weakness now.”

 

Angela laughed. “I wasn’t thinking about it, but…” she teasingly dropped her fingers, as if to tickle her sides.

 

Fareeha reached behind to swat away her hands. “To think I trust you.”

 

Beaming and beginning in earnest, now, Angela applied delicate pressure with her fingers and scratched lightly with her nails, and Fareeha felt very sleepy, and very warm, as if she might melt into the blankets.

 

The clearest thought in the foggy warmth of her mind was that her t-shirt was an unwanted barrier; she ached for Angela to touch her skin.

 

Admitting that felt like too much.

 

* * *

 

Fareeha awoke that morning to a jostling at her shoulder.

 

“Fareeha.”

 

“Mm?” Fareeha blinked, and Angela was sitting up next to her, hair mussed but looking much more awake than Fareeha felt.

 

“Someone’s at the door.”

 

Fareeha rubbed her eyes. She shook off the desire to pull Angela back under the covers. “It’s probably Lena and Emily. Do you mind if I let them in?”

 

Angela shook her head. “Not at all.”

 

 

As expected, Lena and Emily stood in Fareeha’s doorway, Emily carrying a container of colourful, noodle-shaped vegetables.

 

“Someone slept in,” Emily smiled at Fareeha.

 

Fareeha cleared her throat. “I’ve… had some short nights.”

 

Emily raised a brow and then shook her head, as if dropping her thought. “Lena spiralized way too many veggies, so we wanted to dump some here.”

 

Fareeha smiled, partly out of relief. “Sure. You can come in, if you want.”

 

Angela smiled sheepishly in the living room. “Hi Lena. Hi Emily.”

 

Fareeha suppressed a grimace. It was midmorning, and both the well-worn t-shirt and the open sweatshirt Angela wore were part of Fareeha’s wardrobe, the latter bearing the logo of her school’s engineering department. Making conclusions would be less of a jump and more of a small hop, at this point.

 

Lena just beamed. “Great to see you, Ange!”

 

“You too! You both!” Angela went on an earnest tangent about how she still wanted to make them dinner, and Fareeha stood beside her awkwardly, very much hoping Lena or Emily wouldn’t broach the topic while Angela was still there.

 

Fareeha began to prepare lunch not long later, and she was happy it gave her something to do, outside of ignoring curious gazes and knowing grins.

 

“Hopefully you can figure out something to do with our fake noodles,” Emily said, filling a lapse in conversation.

 

“I’m sure she can,” Angela said, smiling at Fareeha from across the room. “Fareeha’s an amazing cook.”

 

And despite her discomfort, Fareeha’s chest leaped at the fondness in her expression. She smiled back. “I’ll try my best.”

 

Angela offered to help cook, and she knew where all Fareeha’s utensils were, which was probably even more incriminating, but even Lena was surprisingly silent about it.

 

Shortly after lunch, Angela left to go home and feed Meryl, and Fareeha knew she had lost her protection against the barrage of questions she’d now inevitably receive.

 

Lena waggled her brows, sharing a knowing look with Emily. “When were you planning to tell us about this?”

 

“Tell you,” Fareeha rubbed her neck awkwardly, knowing the answer, “about what?”

 

“That you’re shagging—”

 

Emily nudged Lena, angling her chin towards Fareeha, as if to say _tone it down._

 

“Sorry!” Lena chirped; she had the decency to look apologetic. “I just assumed, since Angela was in your house at 10am, in your clothes?”

 

Fareeha would concede that she did have a point. “We sleep better when we’re with each other. It’s not… we’re not together.” She rubbed at her brows. “Or having sex.”

 

Emily smiled. “I see now why you’ve been dropping off less insomnia-fuelled cooking.”

 

Later, when Lena had left the room to stretch her legs, Emily gave Fareeha a serious look. “Do you have feelings for her?” she asked tentatively.

 

Fareeha glanced at the wall beyond them, and then back to Emily. She exhaled; it would feel good to tell someone, at least. “Yeah.”

 

Emily smiled. “I thought so. It was nice to see a glimpse of how happy she makes you.”

 

Fareeha sighed. “I hope I make her happy, too.”

 

Emily watched Fareeha with a thoughtful expression for a moment. “You know, I ran into Angela at the coffee shop the other day and we talked for a while.” She grinned. “She would not shut up about you.”

 

Fareeha’s stomach flipped. “Oh?”

 

“I don’t even think she realized she was doing it. It was very entertaining. _Fareeha is such an excellent piano player. Everything Fareeha cooks is so delicious. My cat loves Fareeha. I miss Fareeha…”_

 

“Yeah?” Fareeha bit down a grin. “I missed her too.”

 

“I kind of thought something would happen when you two were staying together, honestly.”

 

“I can never tell with Angela. She’s very… physical, of course, but it’s always so innocent. I can never get a clear signal that what I would be doing wouldn’t be…” Fareeha sighed, “a big risk.”

 

Emily hummed pensively. “It’s always going to be a risk. But I think you should do it anyway.”

 

 

Fareeha let that stew in her mind for a few days.

 

* * *

 

The next time Fareeha saw Angela, it wasn’t in the circumstances she’d hoped.

 

Angela stood on her doorstep not many days later, eyes red-rimmed and weary. Fareeha searched her face, chest constricting at the pain in her expression. “Oh, Angela…”

 

Fareeha stepped to the side so Angela could come in, and she barely had time to close the door before Angela sagged into her arms, her weight dull and heavy.

 

Fareeha rubbed her back, in the slow circles that had relaxed Angela in weeks past. “What’s going on?”

 

Angela didn’t speak, shoulders shaking with unshed tears. Fareeha led her to the couch, and she cried into Fareeha’s shoulder: raw, defeated sobs. Fareeha swallowed the ache in her chest, murmuring little affirmations into Angela’s hair: _you can cry, I’m here, it’s going to be okay._

 

Minutes passed and Fareeha held her until her cries softened and her shaking slowed. Angela didn’t move away, then, letting out one final sigh and burrowing further into Fareeha’s collarbone.

 

“Do you have any stories?” Her voice was quiet, clogged and hoarse. “Anything good or funny or distracting?”

 

Fareeha cleared her throat, ready to ramble about anything if it made Angela feel better.

 

“When I was about seven, we had a big colony of snails living in our backyard. I decided I wanted to keep them as pets, and that the best home for them would be under my bed. So I found a big container and transported at least 20 of them to my room.”

 

Angela took Fareeha’s fingers loosely in her hand, as if encouraging her to go on.

 

“I spent that afternoon driving them around in doll cars, until my dad got suspicious of why I’d been so quiet for the last few hours. He found snails all over my floor and made me take them all back outside. I named one Michelangelo, after my favourite ninja turtle,” Fareeha continued, watching Angela’s hand in her own. Angela let out a quiet, exhaled laugh. “I wish I could remember the rest of their names.”

 

“When I was fourteen, I was in a cycling elective with this girl. I wasn’t much of a cyclist, but I wanted to show her how good I thought I was. I sped down a hill and hit the brakes way too quickly at the end of it. I was forcibly ejected about two metres in front of the handlebars. Landed on my ass and everything, in front of the whole class. She wasn’t very impressed.”

 

Fareeha could feel Angela’s soft laughter.

 

“That’s not the worst experience of I’ve had of that sort, unfortunately.”

 

Angela lifted her head up, a bleary smile in her face. “Oh?”

 

“In high school this girl I was about to kiss flinched and turned halfway to the side and I ended up licking her eyeball instead.”

 

Angela groaned in sympathy before dissolving into laughter.

 

“Was scared of kissing for years after that. I still feel bad,” Fareeha added.

 

“How could you even aim that badly?”

 

“She moved! And I didn’t know my own height at that point. I didn’t think my mouth would be that high up on her face. I was… all limbs.”

 

“Fine.” Angela laughed again. “If you say so.”

 

A few minutes passed, and Fareeha massaged Angela’s back in the same way Angela had to her earlier, remembering how calm it had made Fareeha feel, feeling gratified when Angela relaxed against her further.

 

“Sorry about crying all over you.” Angela laughed under her breath. “Looks like it’s two bodily fluids I’ve gotten on your clothes now.”

 

“Don’t apologize,” Fareeha reassured. “My shirts can handle it.”

 

 

Angela took a shower in Fareeha’s bathroom, put on some of Fareeha’s clothes, and used what had become her designated toothbrush from the previous stay. She looked much more at ease when she came into Fareeha’s room after that; the redness in her eyes had receded, and she had no hesitations about burrowing under Fareeha’s covers and releasing a contented sigh.

 

She turned to her side towards Fareeha, expression sobering. “Can I tell you what happened?”

 

Fareeha shuffled onto her side to face her. “Of course.”

 

Angela swallowed. “My parents died in a car accident when I was fifteen. It’s been a long time, now, of course, and I don’t usually… I haven’t cried about it like this since my early twenties. I try not to dwell on it, on day to day basis; they would have wanted me to move on. But… a man came into the hospital today. Car accident. He had the same injury as my father. We tried our best, but he didn’t make it. I couldn’t do anything after that. When the adrenaline faded and everything hit me… I just couldn’t hold it together.”

 

Angela’s voice was steady, but Fareeha brushed her arm in invitation, and Angela folded into her arms.

 

“I’m so sorry, Angela.”

 

“Thank you,” Angela said, voice muffled against Fareeha’s shirt. “For everything, I mean. For making me feel at home with you, enough to say these things.”

 

Fareeha stroked her back silently, unable to express whatever emotion was pouring out of her and not wanting to take away from Angela’s admission, even so.

 

Angela’s breathing eventually deepened, and she slept soundly under Fareeha’s arm, brow soft and relaxed. One of her shins was twisted in Fareeha’s, her fingers still loosely clasping Fareeha’s other hand.

 

Fareeha stared up at the ceiling, hit with the gravity of it.

 

The way her tears twisted Fareeha’s heart, how her laughter was a victory to be treasured, how she savoured these soft, quiet moments when they existed in a space just for themselves.

 

_You won’t last long—not without loving her._

 

She brushed some hair out of Angela’s face with her thumb, let out a soft breath.

 

And maybe she’d never wanted to.


End file.
